(no subject)
The worst of it seems to be over, although that may be an illlusion, since we're in a safe zone. Seth is siting on the upstairs porch, smoking a cigar and drinking Scotch, gun in his lap, just in case. He's on the phone with his Dad, who's a cop in New Orleans, hearing the horror stories. Fortunately, almost everyone I know has checked in, and the casualities among friends and acquaintances so far appear to be relatively light. So far.
I was out earlier, looking at the sky, searching for some sign or portent, but there was none. This isn't cosmic, we've brought it on ourselves, I fear.
Talked with my Dad, who's at the Pentagon (probably visiting his old office space from 35 years ago). He says we've passed the crisis point, although there's the matter of getting the vaccine to, you know, the entire world. He won't really say - I suppose he can't, but I suspect this is something from long ago, a remnant of the Cold War someone decided to save in an archive somewhere - until it ate through its containers - or someone accidentally spilled it or it mutated and expanded to overflow whatever container they thought would preserve it back in 1970 or so.
It makes me wonder what horrors untold lie waiting out there for us, acts not of gods, but of men who in their hubris think there's nothing they can't master, no matter how ugly or awful, to do their bidding. Beneath this all rest lessons in ethics and in humanity's immaturity (as if so much of the world these days didn't already remind us how ragingly immature human beings are - it doesn't take 24/7 Anna Nicole or Paris HIlton on TV to make us realize this, surely). Fred Phelps and his "church" are ranting on TV that this is again God's punishment for our sins, for being friends with gay people and so on. Funny, I don't believe in a Divinity that hates the whole of creation, and I just can't imagine worshiping hate. And I could be wrong, but the zombies don't seem like they're all gay people, nor do they seem to be killing just gay people. This isn't a moment of divine retribution - why do people always put their own failings, their own cowardice, their own bigotry, their own ignorance on their gods? Can't they imagine a divinity bigger than their own small minds? Ah, there's the rub. . .
Dad reassures me by saying some of the effects of the virus may be reversed - that some few of the tens of thousands infected may be saved. Of course, that's presupposing someone like me hasn't already shot them. I'm skeptical though, I saw the goo that was their brains, oozing onto the pavement. I hope this plague hasn't served to make monsters out of us in other ways. Will those of us whose brains stayed whole become more monstrous than those who died?
As with all disasters, humanity will pick itself up tenaciously, and try to make sense of the wreckage. We will rebuild, and convince ourselves we're safe, until the inevitable next time disaster strikes, in whatever form.
When the next round of horror and death come, I like to think we won't blame it on the Divine, but look deeper within our collective soul, and ask ourselves what we have to do as a species to grow up, and to learn to truly prevent where we can, and to repair with true compassion when we can't. I hope we have neither survivor's guilt, nor survivor's arrogance.
What will we be when all the zombies are gone? Only time will tell. We will be fewer, but I wonder, will we be better for having come through it?
I was out earlier, looking at the sky, searching for some sign or portent, but there was none. This isn't cosmic, we've brought it on ourselves, I fear.
Talked with my Dad, who's at the Pentagon (probably visiting his old office space from 35 years ago). He says we've passed the crisis point, although there's the matter of getting the vaccine to, you know, the entire world. He won't really say - I suppose he can't, but I suspect this is something from long ago, a remnant of the Cold War someone decided to save in an archive somewhere - until it ate through its containers - or someone accidentally spilled it or it mutated and expanded to overflow whatever container they thought would preserve it back in 1970 or so.
It makes me wonder what horrors untold lie waiting out there for us, acts not of gods, but of men who in their hubris think there's nothing they can't master, no matter how ugly or awful, to do their bidding. Beneath this all rest lessons in ethics and in humanity's immaturity (as if so much of the world these days didn't already remind us how ragingly immature human beings are - it doesn't take 24/7 Anna Nicole or Paris HIlton on TV to make us realize this, surely). Fred Phelps and his "church" are ranting on TV that this is again God's punishment for our sins, for being friends with gay people and so on. Funny, I don't believe in a Divinity that hates the whole of creation, and I just can't imagine worshiping hate. And I could be wrong, but the zombies don't seem like they're all gay people, nor do they seem to be killing just gay people. This isn't a moment of divine retribution - why do people always put their own failings, their own cowardice, their own bigotry, their own ignorance on their gods? Can't they imagine a divinity bigger than their own small minds? Ah, there's the rub. . .
Dad reassures me by saying some of the effects of the virus may be reversed - that some few of the tens of thousands infected may be saved. Of course, that's presupposing someone like me hasn't already shot them. I'm skeptical though, I saw the goo that was their brains, oozing onto the pavement. I hope this plague hasn't served to make monsters out of us in other ways. Will those of us whose brains stayed whole become more monstrous than those who died?
As with all disasters, humanity will pick itself up tenaciously, and try to make sense of the wreckage. We will rebuild, and convince ourselves we're safe, until the inevitable next time disaster strikes, in whatever form.
When the next round of horror and death come, I like to think we won't blame it on the Divine, but look deeper within our collective soul, and ask ourselves what we have to do as a species to grow up, and to learn to truly prevent where we can, and to repair with true compassion when we can't. I hope we have neither survivor's guilt, nor survivor's arrogance.
What will we be when all the zombies are gone? Only time will tell. We will be fewer, but I wonder, will we be better for having come through it?